


Late Delivery

by Cinnamaldeide



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Almost but not quite, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Presents, Crack Treated Seriously, Don’t copy to another site, Escort Service, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Not Beta Read, Potentially One Night Stand, Santa’s Elf Will Graham, Which degenerates of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamaldeide/pseuds/Cinnamaldeide
Summary: Hannibal receives an unexpected gift for Christmas. It doesn’t really fit under his tree and has an exceedingly unhibited attitude, but Hannibal can come to appreciate even largely underrated presents.





	Late Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been waiting to work on this unfortunate idea for approximately 360 days. I wasn’t sure I’d actually write it at some point, but once I started I knew it was worth the wait ❄️

Partaking in traditional Christmas celebrations, selecting with accuracy his own decorations, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances and colleagues for an unfortunate amount of time, Hannibal had gradually forgotten his cultural distance from such festivity, absorbed its repetitive ceremonies in time. Eventually diluted painful associations to a dull ache.

It couldn’t be said that Hannibal found Christmas parties altogether unsatisfying, he certainly came to appreciate the distraction they provided. Meals to be planned, greeting cards to be sent, uncivil last-minute purchaser too busy to mind their unbecoming manners. Christmas was a quiet affair for the Chesapeake Ripper, his personal gift to the police department and collateral families, yet people kept disappearing all the same. His own gift to himself.

Santa wouldn’t have ventured down his chimney in any case.  
Henge Hannibal’s stupor at the sight of a handsome stranger subtly dressed as a Christmas elf in front of it. Dark green clothes warmed by bright flames.

Curious, Hannibal thought. He hadn’t noticed signs of his trespassing, jimmed locks or traces of thievery. Hannibal couldn’t detect his scent above the aromatic smoke of beech wood from the roaring fire, which Hannibal hadn’t lit before departing for his night out. His light trousers suggested the proximity was dictated by necessity, but his rapt stare let Hannibal presume otherwise.

Blue eyes lost in thoughts, blank and intent, surrounded by sheepish darkness. Eyes which suddenly shifted towards Hannibal. “You’re older than expected,” he said with a frown.

Hannibal found less remarkable his off-handed insolence than his evident bewilderment, for burglars had never been dissuaded from his age. “I hadn’t been expecting a guest at all,” he placidly retorted, mentally considering inconspicuous ways to dispose of his intruder. “Should I have?”

Visibly discarding his concerns, the stranger approached Hannibal with measured steps, clearing his throat and residual pensiveness. “I’m here on behalf of Father Christmas to deliver your present,” he informed, monotone voice fit for a pre-recorded message, gaze idly averted on Hannibal’s appropriately themed tie.

Hannibal meaningfully looked underneath his decorated tree.

“I couldn’t fit under your, uhm,” the stranger attempted to remain cordial, “whatever I assumed you consider your tree.” He seemed serious, bored even, to Hannibal’s astonishment, while pronouncing himself as a Christmas gift.

Hannibal began mentally drawing up a list of suspects capable of sending him a prostitute as a joke and deeming it inoffensive, however attractive said escort was in his attire.

“We received the Christmas letter including instructions about your  _lonesome_ situation,” the stranger affronted, apparently unaware of his indelicacy. “They were in Lithuanian, so it took us a long time to translate,” he continued. “The staff apologizes, by the way. Father too, for not being present for the delivery. Merry Christmas,” he ended, fake smile plastered on his lips, eyes still wavering around his Half-Windsor knot.

Hannibal had certainly no recollection whatsoever of having ever written a Christmas letter, but in his detachment he still bore in mind that his Baltic origin weren’t public knowledge. He’d have to question his guest to learn about his sources.

His gracile frame, his slender neck, his calm breathing, his relaxed pose. Hannibal assessed his intruder’s unthreatening stance, his dormant strength, his evident uneasiness, and then decided to play along with their surreal conversation instead of incapacitating him and drop the act.

“I appreciate your investment, consider your apologies accepted,” Hannibal said, suave, “but I don’t recall having ever forwarded a request for,” Hannibal weighed his words. “I hesitate to call you anything other than a handsome man, but I suspect you may still find it disrespectful.”

“The  _man_ part, in fact,” the stranger confirmed. “The letter came from a nice little girl, Mischa I believe.” Hannibal’s certainties faltered. “It was all wrinkled, barely legible, but our restoration department has seen worse. She couldn’t be more than three at the time, which left us a little astonished,” he confessed.

“I taught her,” Hannibal said, surprising the both of them with his assertion, experiencing an ancient, almost forgotten coldness. She was so young, so eager to follow him, to learn from her beloved big brother. “I wasn’t aware of her initiative.”

The stranger seemed to soften. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to. She asked for help from her mother, since the letter was meant to deliver some comfort to _you_ ,” he paused. “Her kind gesture deserved our attention, our tardiness doesn’t flatten us,” he conceded.

Comfort was rather distant from Hannibal’s current state. He doubted his guest would relieve the momentary anguish resurfaced from deep inside himself. “You don’t seem bothered by the implications,” Hannibal grimaced, apathetic.

“Many nice children lament their parents’ solitude in their letters, I learned to deal with their demands. Sometimes they actually need relief and appreciate my intervention,” he explained with modesty. “Sometimes it’s necessary to involve our child abuse department.” A stinging edge in his low tone. “My boss seems to think I’m particularly useful of the former situations, I’m almost grateful when I’m in charge of simpler cases.”

“The finest china, reserved only for special guests,” Hannibal supplied, wondering if he himself belonged with such category. His doubts about the stranger’s inverosimile tale temporary discarded. “A thankless task to perform,” Hannibal said, willing his blue eyes to meet his own. “An uncomfortable talent, leaving aside your boss’ belief.”

“It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it,” he defended. “Depravity becomes an acquired taste after a while, I’m rather gifted when it comes to understand it.” He began unbuttoning his tight pants, obscenely close. “Call me Will if you need a name at all,” he briefly added.

Hannibal suspect the situation needed rectifying, before proceeding further. Setting aside his unresolved reservations, Hannibal could spare the stranger and himself an undignifying experience. He would have preferred his guest’s aesthetically pleasing form and his bare crassness, almost verging into impoliteness, to be offered under different circumstances. “My sister is long dead, Will,” he said, intercepting his hand with a light touch, “there’s no need for you to comply with her request.”

His eyes finally parted from Hannibal’s neck. “It was her last,” Will countered, disbelieving. “I’d argue it’s even more important to honour her affection for you and relive it after so many years.”

Despite Hannibal’s disapproval, Will’s tasteless proposition was tinged with sincere concern, gradually acquiring appeal in its celebrative intent. His touching words wouldn’t have moved Hannibal to regretful tears, but admiration insidiously crept in without Hannibal’s consent.

He still resolutely refused to pursue their degenerating line of reasoning, but Will admittedly knew how to be persuasive. “Do you perchances carry her letter with you?” Hannibal inquired, tone light. “May I see it?”

He was handed the source of his current distress, presumably a disposable copy for Will’s own convenience. His fingers were reverent in handling the paper bearing Mischa’s demand in a messy handwriting. Hannibal glimpsed their mother’s influence in her gentle wording.

“I’d like to have a word with your translators,” he said, brisk. “I fear certain terms have been conveyed with the wrong interpretation due to a considerable cultural distance between the languages involved, which lead to the misunderstanding of their original meaning. Primarily, this one.” Hannibal indicated the incriminated word among its fellow. “I understand there’s a distinction between  _lover_ and  _companion_ , a fine nuance to catch, but my sister intended for me to receive what is commonly addressed as a playmate, a partner in crime, a friend if you will,” Hannibal clarified. “With all due respect, I doubt Mischa expected to provide me a different kind of service,” Hannibal concluded.

Until that moment, Hannibal hadn’t been focused on the clear implication of his own words, of the real weight of Mischa’s Christmas letter. Her right hunch about Hannibal’s loneliness, her noble purpose to amend it. In her childish way, she had attempted to fill a void in Hannibal’s existence. Mischa had wanted to alleviate his misery, had been looking for a way to lighten his burden or alternatively share it with someone else.

Mischa had wanted him  _happy_. Mischa had wished he’d never wanted for anything, even if she couldn’t always grant his wishes. Judging by Will’s absolute astonishment, eyebrows silently rising above average level, the realisation had stuck him as strongly.

“You’ve been alone ever since she left your side. No,” Will whispered, piercing with his blue eyes Hannibal’s own, “even before that. You cared for her, but she wasn’t what you needed, wouldn’t have been in the long term, but she  _helped_.” Will frowned. “All these years without anyone to trust. All the anger, the cruelty, the hate inside of you,” Will said with a quivering voice, “and this lost letter could have improved your life, could have preempted you from never having even just the _chance_ to appear on the nice children list, had it just reappeared sooner.”

Hannibal refrained from entering into a long discussion about external influences and natural behaviour, finding it rather unlikely for a Christmas letter to change his own dark impulses. Will didn’t need to know the specifics about his questionable pastimes.

Acquiring a willful accomplice with whom to share them, though. “Better late than never, they say.”

Will, who recently ceased to be addressed as  _stranger_ in Hannibal’s mind, seemed to ponder reluctantly on these latest developments. “This is outside my expertise, I have to talk with my superior.” Will was quite evidently more used to short-term employments.

Still, he wasn’t outright rejecting his proposal, Hannibal noticed. “I shall defer to you in that respect, but I suggest you seat at my table and consume some food before you depart,” he said with casual cordiality. “Your unexpected presence distracted me, and I’ve been a terrible host so far.”

Hannibal presumed Will to be aware to a certain degree of his preferred main ingredient, but his features betrayed no revulsion at Hannibal’s offering. Mere indecision associated with the desire not to impose on someone else’s hospitality. Ingesting Hannibal’s meat wasn’t giving Will cause for concern, which caught Hannibal’s interest even further. He wondered to what extend Will’s boss had been accurate about his taste for gruesome beauties.

“Ah, well,” Will said, “I’m still wondering if I’m required to eat at all,” he confessed, seemingly torn on the matter. His pallor suggested feeding hadn’t been his priority, nor his boss’ to Hannibal’s suspicion. He wondered whether Will wouldn’t be naturally persuaded to leave his working environment if adequately spoiled with a more humane treatment.

He found himself increasingly invested in keeping his guest from leaving. “Our conversation left me with a ravenous appetite,” he said, “but I won’t insist if you’re not in the condition or mood to partake in a light supper,” which Hannibal knew to be untrue. “If you still worry about your initial purpose, we could easily address the issue on your terms after we replenish our stomachs,” Hannibal offered, suggestive and private, uncharacteristically meek in his hint, “and let our paths part for different directions, but I think I’d enjoy socializing with you. Becoming friendly could turn into your next occupation,” Hannibal teased, inviting Will towards his kitchen with a casual gesture.

“I don’t think so,” Will retorted, slowly walking past him with a defiant glint in his blue eyes. “I recognize a predator when I see it.”

It takes one to know one, Hannibal thought as he followed his guest. “And I a potential mate when it enters my territory,” he chimed, blatantly admiring Will’s gorgeous behind with keen eyes. Hannibal had never been prone to deprive himself of the finest experiences life would present him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my poor attempt at providing the Hannibal Christmas special whose absence has been lamented [here](http://velocityprime.tumblr.com/post/180722827472/) lately. It’s not canon compliant and it’s not _special_ , but I like it so I hope you will too :) I know nothing about Lithuanian and didn’t ask for help, I just relied on the usual confusion that so easily seeps into translation whenever two culture come in contact. Merry Christmas everyone 🎄
> 
> [On Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/posts/352766) | [On Tumblr](https://cinnamaldeide.tumblr.com/post/181398647949/)


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